I lay on my bed in a total state of detachment from reality. I didn't know what to think or believe. Rachel is too good for this, and for us. She has a great job at the New York Times, had a great apartment in a classy part of the city, and she gave up the upper class lifestyle for THIS. Truth be told, I was scared for her, and I wished she had never crossed paths with us on Christmas Eve. I still had nightmares of April, her cold, dead, emerald eyes staring expressionless at the bathroom floor, blood pouring from her delicate wrists, wet spots on her cheeks from where she had cried…she had died that fast. There was a knock at the door, and I jumped in alarm.

"Mark? Can I come in?"

Rachel…

"Yes, I'm decent." I call back to her. She enters silently, closing the door with so as not to wake anybody. She stands there in one of Mimi's pairs of p.j.'s. Even the pajamas don't seem to match up with what this girl justly deserved. She stands there for a few seconds rocking nervously from one foot to the other.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry Rachel…you wanna sit down?" I ask moving my legs closer to my body. She sits, sighs, and then stares at me. She smirks a bit and runs her hand through my hair, I tremble in response, "It's not everyday you get to see the great Mark Cohen with no gel in his hair. You have really puffy hair."

"Puffy?" I half laugh, "Oh my God." I fall onto my back laughing. She lies across my chest where she's staring right into my eyes.

"So how long are you staying?" I ask.

"I'm…I'm thinking of moving in." I stare at her like a dote, rising up.

"You think I'm too good for this don't you?"

I'm taken aback at her sixth sense, but I nod, "Yes."

"Roger's saying the same thing, Mark. What makes me any better than you or the others?"

"Rachel, most of us chose this lifestyle because we thought we would make something of ourselves along the way. Roger and me, dammit, we're still trying to find out what it is we want and need to do with our lives. You come from this rich family. Rachel…STOP rebelling against your parents. Get outta the gutter while you can." I turned my head, "I always thought I was the one that would survive…now I find I'm just as lost as the rest of us." I take one of her hands in mine. "We deserve this. Your sister didn't deserve this…and by God, YOU don't deserve this."

"You're forgetting something Mark." She stared at me, "What I want and what I deserve are the same thing. I deserve to be happy and WANT to be here."

"What would posses you to come back to the place where your sister died? What could possibly be so important?"

Tears formed in her eyes, and in pierced my every fiber. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry!" Before I know what I'm doing I've wrapped my arms around her kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"I hate being in here. I can feel my sister's presence all around and just going near that bathroom…God Mark, it's hell! My sister DIED in there!" she emphasized with a point. "Mark…I came back for one reason…and it wasn't to see Roger again…and it's not a 'what'…" she leans up, and stares through me as she'd done a week ago, when she first did it. I shudder again, and for the first time realize what's been there for years probably…Shit, was I that blind? I lean forward and kiss her, unable to hold back any longer. I had wanted to kiss her those two or three years ago.

I pull away, and kissing her forehead say, "I'm sorry I'm so stupid Rachel."

"I'll forgive you if you do one thing."

"I'm almost afraid to ask. What?"

She smiles, "Keep the gel outta your hair tomorrow." I bust into rolling laughter.

"Deal"